Partners in Crime
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: When a young islander starts acting oddly, it's up to Roarke to find out what's going on. Follows 'The Cheesecrafter...'
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _I have Harry2 to thank for the idea behind this story. It turned out to be surprisingly easy to write. While I'm here, the disclaimer: Roarke, Tattoo, Julie and Lawrence belong to Aaron Spelling, Leonard Goldberg, Gene Levitt and (at least at the moment) Sony; I just borrow them whenever story plots call for them. All other characters, except for those who appear in the episodes I've novelized in my flashback stories, belong to me. They can be used elsewhere with my permission if desired. Okay…now you're free to enjoy the story, and again…thanks for the idea, Harry!

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§ § § -- May 12, 2006

"Hey, Mom, when's the last day of school again?" called out David Omamara, nearly sixteen, slinging his school backpack over his shoulders. "I want to be sure I know so I can go see Mr. Roarke about that driving job he didn't have last year."

His mother, Camille, didn't even have to glance at the calendar to know. "June 2," she said. Then she frowned and looked again. "Oh brother. That's gonna play a little havoc with our plans. The Enstads' triplets turn two that day…"

"Do I have to be there?" David groaned.

"I don't wanna go either," put in nine-year-old Craig Omamara, who tended to ape his older brother in nearly everything. It had been all Camille and Jimmy could do the previous summer, when David had earned his driver's license, to remind Craig that he still had a good eight years to wait for his turn.

"I know, I know," Camille grumbled, beginning to lose her patience. "You've told me that so many times I'm reciting it in my sleep, according to your father. And as if that's not enough, your sister turns three on Sunday and I still have to be sure the Fantasy Iceland rink is available for her party that morning. I can't believe I didn't do this two months ago."

"Me either," said Craig, folding his arms across his chest and giving her a look that reminded her of Jimmy when he was being stern with her or the boys.

"No backtalk, mister," Camille ordered, her patience evaporating. It had never been one of her virtues anyway, and her sons were used to hearing her lose her temper and raise her voice, so that more often than not, their father had to lay down the law in order to make it stick. "You've been doing this all week long and I've really had it. I'd better not hear any new reports from your teacher." She'd already had one call from Craig's third-grade teacher telling her that he'd been disrupting class all week long for some reason, in small but annoying ways. He seemed to have been employing everything from his handheld electronic video game, a birthday gift two months before, to the time-honored spitball, after which Camille had put to use a trick in a book she had read as a child and made Craig sit in the backyard and throw spitballs till he complained of dry mouth and a persistent sour aftertaste. But he continued to disturb his classmates, and Camille couldn't understand why, when he was usually a pretty well-behaved boy. She'd talked with Jimmy about it, but all he had been able to offer was that maybe it was restlessness in these last few weeks before school let out for the summer.

"Yeah, okay, whatever," mumbled Craig, without any evident repentance. Camille let out a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes, watching him follow his older brother out the door to wait for the shuttle bus that would take Craig to the island's elementary school in Amberville and David to Fantasy Island High School, down near the other end of the island.

"Brat," Camille muttered under her breath and glanced at the table, where Robin sat methodically eating an unbuttered, syrup-less waffle with one hand while the family dog lay under her chair, head up, waiting eagerly for dropped tidbits. Robin was just beginning to learn the intricacies of handling silverware, but Camille tended to let it lapse during breakfast, figuring they never had company for the morning meal to see and criticize her decision. Craig had been copying his little sister this week, creating havoc at mealtimes as well as at school; Camille was nearly at the end of her rope. "Almost done, honey?"

"Almost, Mommy," said Robin softly. In contrast to her boisterous older brothers, she was a quiet, timid child, tending to hide behind Camille when guests came over. She was often protected by the Omamaras' black Lab, Harriet, who seemed to sense her shyness, and she was fairly open around Camille's large family, since they visited frequently; but Camille sometimes worried about her, wondering how she would fare when she started school in a couple more years.

"Okay." Camille smiled at her and then turned when the phone rang. It was the sort of kitchen phone she'd grown up with in the 70s and 80s, mounted on a wall and equipped with an extra-long cord that allowed movement around the room. Over the years the cord had stretched out so much that she was now able to go out the back door and yell at the boys if she had to, without having to put down the receiver. "Omamara residence."

"Yo, Camille," said the cheerful voice of Myeko Okada. "What's up?"

"The usual," said Camille. "How 'bout you?"

"Same old, same old. I called just to ask if you've got all the plans in place for Robin's birthday party yet. Alexander and Noelle will be at Hachiro's, but Dawn's all excited and can't wait. She picked out Robin's present herself."

Camille laughed for the first time that morning. "Sounds just like her. No, I still have to call the ice rink and see if they've definitely got Sunday morning open. And about all I can do is hope Mr. Roarke and Leslie aren't granting somebody's fantasy to be an Olympic figure-skating champion, because that'd be just my luck."

Myeko laughed sympathetically. "I know the feeling, friend, believe me. Okay, well, let me know when everything's settled, huh?"

"Sure, call you later," Camille promised. She hung up, considered her own remark about the fantasy, and decided that it was still early enough to go see Roarke and Leslie. Waiting for Robin to finish, she cleaned the kitchen and started the dishwasher, fed the dog, then called her mother and asked if Robin could stay with her while she ran some errands. Mrs. Ichino agreed readily, and about fifteen minutes later Camille was on her way to the main house, using a well-worn trail she'd been taking there ever since she'd first become friends with Leslie many years before. She came out by the back terrace and peered into the open French shutters; to her relief, Leslie was there, engrossed in writing something. "Knock knock," she ventured.

Leslie looked up and grinned. "Oh, hi, Camille, come on in."

"I'm not interrupting you or anything, am I?" Camille asked, entering the room and sinking into one of the leather chairs. "Where's Mr. Roarke?"

"Out rounding up all the usual last-minute loose ends we always have to tie up on Fridays," Leslie said. "I'm just paying some bills. How're the kids?"

"Same as ever," Camille said through a deep sigh, making Leslie laugh. "I came over primarily to make sure the ice rink'll be open on Sunday morning. I should've done it way back in February or March, I guess, but you know how life is with three kids around…it kept getting away from me. Myeko called this morning to ask about it—Robin's birthday is on Sunday, and I wanted to be sure I could have the party there."

"Oh, sure, it should be fine," Leslie said. "Matter of fact, once I finish writing out all these checks, I have to take a load of mail to the post office anyway, so you might as well come with me and we'll stop by the rink and finalize things. Yeah, I think I can see where it would've slipped your mind."

Camille grinned reluctantly. "Too many springtime birthdays, I think." She watched Leslie write out a couple of checks, and they made occasional small talk about one thing or another till Leslie finished and gathered all the outgoing mail together. Then, once they were settled in a rover and on the way down the lane to the Ring Road, Camille drew in a deep breath. "Remember when I said it's the same as ever with the kids? Well…it isn't quite. Craig…"

"What about him?" Leslie prompted when she paused, trying to think of a good way to broach the subject.

"Well, he's been acting really strange lately," Camille said. "I don't get it at all. I mean, he's a pretty active kid and sometimes he's a little hard to handle, but he was never like this before, and I can't understand why."

"What's he been doing?" queried Leslie.

"Mostly stuff at school. He keeps talking out of turn in class and finding ways to disturb his classmates. He's interrupted his teacher when she reads to them after lunch. He's been teasing girls, getting into fights with boys over dumb things, playing his Nintendo DS in class when he isn't even supposed to bring it to school to begin with, talking back to his teacher…not to mention me and Jimmy…and get this, Tuesday he even threw spitballs in class. I thought spitballs went out with our generation."

"Holy cow," Leslie said, shooting her an amazed glance as she pulled the car into the town square. "What'd Jimmy say about that?"

"I told him how I punished Craig—made him sit out back and throw spitballs all afternoon. I got it from a Beverly Cleary book I used to love. Never thought it'd come in handy, but you know something, I think it worked. Craig hardly ate any supper—said it all tasted like soggy paper. I don't think he'll be making any more spitballs for a while."

"Boy, I'll say. I think I remember the book you mean, too. That's ingenious. How'd Jimmy react to that?"

"He laughed. He said he read that book too." Both women laughed. "In general…well, he thinks maybe it's just restlessness since school's letting out in another three weeks. But I'm not so sure. I mean, Craig gets into his share of trouble, sure, just like any other active elementary-school-age boy. But he's never gone out of his way to misbehave, like he's been doing lately. It doesn't make any sense, and I'm not sure what to do about it."

"It sort of sounds to me as if Jimmy isn't really taking this all that seriously. When did it first start?"

"Just this past weekend, right after your birthday party in fact. It's like he's been hopped up on something. You know how he copies David in practically everything? Even that didn't do any good. Jimmy and I had to kind of talk David into it, because Craig was making us nuts and we thought it might settle him down, but he agreed after we bribed him into it…"

"Bribed him, huh?" Leslie broke in, grinning knowingly.

Camille rolled her eyes. "It was the only way he'd do it. We said he could apply for a job driving Mr. Roarke's guests this summer, if Mr. Roarke has anything like that open."

"Aha," Leslie said, laughing. Camille joined in, rather spiritlessly, and Leslie prompted gently, "Okay, so go ahead."

"Well, he told Craig he'd let him tag around after him all he wanted and do all the same things he was doing. But it didn't work. David usually goes off to the baseball field at the elementary school and plays pickup games with some pals of his from around here, and Craig was always begging to go. Well, he went all right, but David came back saying Craig just ruined everything because there were younger kids watching the high-school boys, and Craig spent all his time harassing them. Jimmy revoked his DS for the day, but then the next day Craig took the thing to school with him, and that's where it all started."

"Wow," said Leslie, who by now had parked and was staring at Camille in astonishment. "And you say Jimmy isn't too concerned about it?"

"Mostly he's been at work, and when he gets home he's usually too tired to deal with these things. He hasn't really seen much of it, and it's been left up to me to try to figure out what the heck to do. And you know how much attention the boys pay to me…I'm not long on patience. I think if he was more aware of what Craig's been doing, he might say something and get results from it, but he just doesn't know."

"That's pretty weird," mused Leslie, frowning a little. "Well, hey, if Craig's teacher has a conference with you two, it might help. That way Jimmy can be made aware at first hand what Craig's been doing, and he can speak to him about it. Shouldn't be any reason Jimmy can't take a day away from the hotel. Let the assistant manager handle things."

"He hates doing that," said Camille. "He's a workaholic by nature. But I'll see if I can make him realize how important all this is. Hey, thanks for listening, Leslie."

"No problem, that's what friends are for. Let me finish up at the post office and then we'll pop over to the ice rink."

‡ ‡ ‡

Craig Omamara fidgeted. School wasn't his favorite place to be anyway, but he had never really minded it till this week. He was feeling restless and confined, and he itched to create some kind of excitement. It was so dull and boring in here; he wished the class could have a party of some kind, maybe even an end-of-the-year celebration. There were still three weeks of school left before summer vacation started; but he wanted something to break the monotony.

_Hey, look over there. See that? That goody-two-shoes kid is at it again. Being teacher's pet and doing all her work without being told. No wonder she gets so much time on the class computer. Weren't you the one that wanted to be the class pen pal? And instead, that little saint Cristina Ordoñez gets all the fun. Go ahead and throw a spitball at her. Remember how mad she got Tuesday when you did that?_

Craig reached up and rubbed his ear. That little voice had been talking to him all week, easily persuading him to do all kinds of wild things that had been getting him into big trouble with his parents and his teacher. "Shut up," he hissed, trying to whisper, but so angry now at the voice that he had a hard time keeping quiet. "You're just gonna get me in trouble." Anyway, after his mother had told him to waste a whole afternoon making spitballs in the backyard, he didn't care if he never tasted another spitball for the rest of his life.

Some kids sitting near him gave him funny looks, and one girl put her finger against her lips; he made a face at her and turned away, rubbing his ear again. The little voice always seemed to be speaking directly into his left ear, but every time he turned to see who the voice belonged to, there was nothing there. He hadn't told anybody; they'd only say he was hearing things, and he'd just get into even more trouble. Or worse, his mother might start thinking there was something really wrong with him, and she'd be carting him to doctors all over the place. He really didn't want to end up at Dr. Ordoñez' office. He was Cristina's father, and Craig had been picking on Cristina so much this week that he was sure if his mother took him to her dad, Dr. Ordoñez would really let him have it.

_Aw, come on, what can they really do to you anyway? All they do is yell at you and take away your game. It's not like they're gonna put you in jail or anything…_

"How do you know?" he muttered. The boy in front of him turned completely around in his seat and glared at him.

"Shut up, Craig," he said, right out loud.

"You first," Craig retorted immediately, goaded.

"Boys," said their teacher from up front, and the kid in front turned back around. Craig kept his head down, feeling for the first time as if he'd gone too far this week and it was time to back down. He didn't know what was going on; he'd never had the urge to misbehave this much, not as far as he could remember. And sure, it had been fun making Cristina Ordoñez mad; he really didn't like her very much anyway, since she always did her homework, always seemed to have the right answers when the teacher called on her, and never got in trouble for things like talking in class. So when their class had started an e-mail contact relationship with a class in Hilo, Hawaii, Cristina had been chosen as their side's pen pal, talking to a kid in the class in Hilo once each week. Usually this was a Friday, and while he had to admit Cristina wasn't allowed to do much more than tell the Hilo class what stuff they'd learned in school this week and so on, it still rankled that she'd been chosen just because she was always so darn good. So when the little voice had urged him, last Sunday, to pick on her at his older brother's baseball game, he'd been happy to follow through.

But since Monday, he'd been getting in trouble for things that had nothing to do with Cristina Ordoñez. His teacher had taken his Nintendo DS away from him on Monday when he'd succumbed to the little voice's urging and played it right here in class, during what should have been a quiet work time. Craig was used to finishing quickly, then sitting in sheer boredom waiting for the work period to end. Not this time; his DS had taken care of that. But he had forgotten to turn the volume all the way down, and he'd been caught.

Tuesday the voice had suggested he throw spitballs. Mostly he'd aimed them at Cristina, who of course had cried and complained; but he'd targeted a few other girls he especially didn't like, and just for fun had even aimed one at a boy sitting up front, just to see if he could send one that far. That had been fun too, even after his mother punished him after school. He made a face to himself; he thought he could still taste paper.

Wednesday he'd taken the voice's suggestion to throw a little mud at Cristina, who always came to school in impeccably clean clothes; when Cristina's friend Emma had come to her defense, yelling at him, he'd retaliated by pushing both Cristina and Emma into the dirt and walked off laughing. Emma's brother, a year older, had seen the whole thing and come running across the playground to attack, resulting in a fight that had gotten him in still more trouble. By then his teacher had had enough and called his mother while he was in the principal's office.

Yet the little voice had continued to egg him on, and somehow he couldn't resist. Summer vacation couldn't get here soon enough for him; he was tired of third grade and just wanted to be at home, lounging around his backyard playing his DS and tagging after David to his ball games and the other places David liked to go with his friends. It was too much to resist, not when the reward was a break from the long tedium of the school day. But he was no longer sure it was worth all the trouble he was getting into.

_Oh, come on, they can't do anything like that. Nobody puts kids in jail,_ the voice assured him. _Even your parents won't do that. They'll just confine you to your room, and that's okay—you have all your books and toys in there anyway, right? They don't spank you at home or at school. All they can do is take stuff away from you, and that's pretty boring anyway, isn't it? Aren't your brother's ball games boring too? Come on, admit it. It's not like he ever lets you play anyway, you know._

Well, that much was true, Craig realized. He was more than old enough to know how to play baseball, and he was the tallest kid in his class, so it wasn't as if he wasn't big enough either. But David and his friends always told him to butt out, and he was forced to sit on the sidelines and watch. Missing the ball games wouldn't be that much of a hardship. Maybe it didn't matter that much.

"What'll I do, then?" Craig whispered, this time taking care to keep his voice so quiet that no one, even the boy in front of him, would overhear.

A little cackling laugh sounded in his ear. _Here's how you can get Cristina Ordoñez into so much trouble that she won't get to be the class pen pal anymore._

That perked Craig right up, and he listened eagerly. Anything to knock Cristina off her lofty pedestal. He could hardly wait to see her face when the teacher handed over the privilege to somebody else.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- May 15, 2006

"You can't be serious. He did what?" Leslie said, gaping at Camille. The two were sitting in the café in town, along with Tabitha, Maureen and Katsumi, having a slightly early lunch. Leslie was here because Christian had had a meeting with a client who was going back to the states later that day, and had figured it was a good excuse to leave the triplets with their grandfather for a while and go into town and meet her friends.

"According to the teacher, Craig managed to get Cristina to stop in the middle of her message to their pen-pal school up in Hilo," Camille explained wearily. "Seems he found a spider on the school playground and kept it at his desk all afternoon waiting till Cristina was writing the weekly e-mail to Hilo, on behalf of their class. He sneaked the spider into her desk, told her he'd seen something big and ugly crawling around in there and she should do something about it. When she found it, there was enough of an uproar that he was able to sneak some really potent four-letter words into her message to the Hilo school, and he sent it before someone caught him and made him erase them. The teacher in Hilo sent the message back with one of her own, and Craig's teacher saw it and asked Cristina about it."

"Cristina denied it," Tabitha put in. "She's not the kind of child who pulls stunts like these, you know how she tries so hard in school. Fernando's passed on his work ethic to both her and Ramón. The teacher did a little investigating and figured out what happened, and they had to straighten out the whole thing with Hilo."

"And then call me," Camille concluded. "Upshot of it is, Craig's got extra homework all this week, and he's not allowed to go out with his class at recess to play, he has to stay in and do this homework. He was also told to write out an apology to the class in Hilo, and Jimmy and I have taken away his DS and several other favorite toys till school lets out for summer. I don't know what else we can possibly do."

"You've done everything you could, Camille," Tabitha said consolingly. "Sometimes it takes a lot of punishment before a child gets the message."

"That's true," Maureen agreed. "You remember all the stories Lauren used to tell about the scrapes her brother Adrian got into? He was one of those."

"Yeah, and look how he turned out," Leslie said. Adrian McCormick now ran the guest marina, and had recently gotten married, much to Lauren's professed surprise.

"Yeah, well, I suppose that's something to hope for, but it's gonna be a long time till Craig grows up," Camille pointed out irritably. "What do we do about him now?"

"Sometimes you just can't do any more," Leslie said. "Although…" She paused, thought a moment, then asked, "Have you talked to Craig himself about all this?"

"No," Camille admitted, looking startled. "I guess we were both just so disgusted, we never thought to actually sit him down and talk about it."

Maureen nodded. "That's understandable. If he'll talk, then you might find at least some clues as to what's going on in his head."

"We'll try it, then," Camille decided. "And I'll get Jimmy in on it too, I don't care how tired he claims to be. He's Craig's parent too, he needs to get involved in this. It's gone too far and it has to stop. I just wish I knew why it all started in the first place."

§ § § -- May 19, 2006

It was quite a surprise to both Roarke and Leslie when Camille and Jimmy both came in on Friday, with Craig between them, looking mostly sullen but just a little nervous as well. "May we help you?" Roarke inquired.

"I sure hope so, Mr. Roarke," Jimmy said. "I don't know what else to do. Camille and I just came back from taking Craig here to a shrink."

"What in the world for?" Leslie asked, amazed.

Camille took the one empty chair that remained in front of Roarke's desk, while Jimmy stood nearby with a firm grip on Craig. "Leslie, remember Monday when we had that talk about finding out what was wrong with Craig, right from the horse's mouth? Well, we did, last evening. It took fifteen or twenty minutes before he'd say anything other than how he was bored in school and was trying to make the time pass quicker so summer would come faster. We kept saying what he was doing was the wrong way to go about it, and he said he couldn't help being bored, and it went around and around till we were fed up. I had this feeling it had to be something else. And then he finally said something nutty-sounding about how this…this 'voice' was telling him to do all this stuff. I don't know what to think about that one. It's just gotten worse and worse. He's really hurting other kids now."

"Which is why we took him to the psychiatrist," Jimmy put in. "That turned out to be a dead end though. We forked over a hundred and fifty bucks for a half hour of that guy's time, only to have him tell us that Craig is fine and he's probably just going through a stage, and we have to wait for him to grow out of it. Quack oughta be drummed out of business, if that's the kind of diagnosis he usually gives out."

Leslie laughed softly. "You kept him out of school today for it?"

"Much to his teacher's relief, I'm sure," Camille said sourly, nodding.

For the first time Roarke spoke: "You say he tells you a voice is telling him what to do?" Jimmy and Camille both nodded, and he regarded Craig with interest, while the boy met his gaze for no more than two seconds before looking away and staring at the floor. "I think perhaps the best thing I can do is to speak to Craig alone, with Leslie here," Roarke said after a moment.

"Feel free to mete out punishment if he does anything objectionable," Jimmy said, releasing his son with a stern look. "We'll wait on the porch. Come on, Camille."

As his parents left, Craig looked up and around, a panicky expression on his face. "What're you gonna do, Mr. Roarke?"

"Nothing but talk to you a bit, Craig," Roarke assured him.

Craig shot a glance after his departed mother and father. "I thought for sure they were gonna tell you everything I did in school last week and this week. Are you gonna make me tell you?"

"Not unless you wish it, or I find it necessary to know," Roarke said.

Craig sighed and flicked a quick look at Leslie, who sat and watched in silence. "I know Miss Leslie knows. My mom said she was talking to her and some of her other friends the other day." He scowled and glared out the open shutters. "I don't know why they have to make such a big deal out of it. I mean, it's not like it really hurt anybody."

"Except perhaps yourself," Roarke interjected quietly.

Craig looked at him, startled. "Huh?"

"That voice you've been hearing," Roarke said, speaking slowly, as if searching for just the proper words. "What does it tell you to do?"

"Just little stuff," Craig said uneasily, eyeing Roarke with a wary look, as though he planned to take to his heels if the questioning got too sensitive. "Only tricks on kids I don't like." He stood his ground for a moment, as if daring Roarke to say anything; but Roarke merely waited him out, and Craig crumbled. "Well, mostly just that dumb Cristina Ordoñez. I can't stand her."

"Why not?" inquired Roarke.

"She's such a goody-goody. Always does all her homework, always knows all the right answers, never talks without raising her hand. Geez, she knows everything. She never gets in any trouble. She…she's so perfect it's like she's not even real. So she gets all these rewards…gets to be the class pen pal and everything. She's teacher's pet. And she always comes to school looking squeaky clean all the time. She never gets dirty. I mean, she doesn't even spill anything down her shirt! She's too perfect."

"Ah, I see," said Roarke, winking surreptitiously when he spotted the amusement his daughter was trying to hide. "So what does the voice tell you to do to her?"

Craig hesitated, then sighed and said, "Throw spitballs, push her down, get her dirty in the playground. I put a spider in her desk last Friday." He grinned suddenly at the memory. "That was fun. Half the class went nuts trying to get it out and all the girls were screaming their heads off."

Roarke leaned slightly forward and studied the boy; there was a strange light in his eyes that even Leslie could detect. "What else?" he prodded, carefully conversational.

Craig went on with a surprising litany of little tricks, culminating in shoving a kid off a playground swing and tricking a girl in his class into eating some bright red berries he'd found on a bush near the school grounds. Leslie's smile vanished as he related how the kid on the swing had sprained an ankle, and the girl who had eaten the berries had been out sick since that day. By the time he finished talking he was grinning maniacally, even giggling now and then as he spoke.

Roarke frowned a little, flashed Leslie a glance and leaned fully forward over the desktop. "Craig…tell me what this voice sounds like."

Craig shrugged. "Like somebody talking in my ear. Not whispering, but talking. The first time I heard it, it was loud enough, I thought the whole class could hear, but nobody was looking at me. Then it told me I was the only one that could hear it. I looked all around but I didn't see anybody."

"Do you talk back?" Roarke asked.

"Yeah…I mean, I know I'm gonna get in trouble for doing this stuff, but the voice tells me it'll be fun anyway and they can't put me in jail or anything like that for what I'm doing. It sounds like…kinda like another kid talking to me. It's not a voice in my head, either. I can hear it, like there's somebody leaning over my shoulder."

Roarke was quiet, considering this; Leslie glanced back and forth between him and Craig, wondering what her father was thinking. Then Craig rubbed his ear and blurted, "It's talking to me right now. Says I gotta get outta here pronto. Before I get creamed."

Roarke's face took on a look of concentration so intense that it was scary; his dark eyes got quite wide, and his stare grew fierce and metallic. He seemed to be focusing on a point just beside Craig's head. "You will stop, immediately."

Craig clearly thought Roarke was addressing him. "I didn't—" Something seemed to cut him off, and he went still for a moment, then blurted, "I can't! Don't make me do that!" Without warning he whipped around and fled out the shutters, tearing away down the path even though both Roarke and Leslie shouted after him to come back. But they couldn't even hear his feet hitting the ground anymore, and sat down, looking at each other a little helplessly. Before they could speak, the door opened and Jimmy and Camille came in.

"We heard you shouting. What happened?" Camille asked.

Roarke summarized his talk with Craig. "I am sure he'll come home soon," he said. "I think his conscience is fighting a war with the voice he has been hearing."

Jimmy pulled his head back in disbelief. "Are you telling me you believe that malarkey about Craig hearing voices? Come on, Mr. Roarke, that's crazy!"

Roarke quieted him with a firm stare and a reminder of, "Don't forget, Jimmy, you are on Fantasy Island. Nothing can be ruled out here."

Jimmy squinted skeptically at him, then realized he was serious and groaned. "Aw, damn," he mumbled, letting his head fall back.

"So what do you think it is?" Camille pressed.

Leslie watched her father, as eager as her friend to hear his response; but Roarke only shook his head and settled slowly back in his chair. "I'm not entirely certain. However, I do suspect that this 'voice' of Craig's is not merely a hallucination or a sign of some mental illness. He said it spoke directly into one ear, and he actually heard the voice during our talk. He reached up and rubbed his left ear, as if the voice was speaking too loudly for comfort."

Jimmy and Camille looked at each other, stymied. "This is getting too weird for words," Jimmy said. "Look, Mr. Roarke, I don't want to sound like I don't care what happens here, but I really do have to get back to work."

"No you don't," Camille snapped, glaring at him. "For crying out loud, Jimmy, I don't care what you think, the hotel isn't gonna fall apart without you around to be sure everybody toes the line. Put a little faith in those poor people and let them do their jobs without you breathing down their necks all day. Craig comes first, and that's final!"

Jimmy turned to Roarke as if in appeal, but Roarke smiled a little. "Your wife is correct, Jimmy. There is no reason the hotel won't continue to run smoothly if you take a few days away to concentrate on Craig's problem. Your son is going to need both his parents to help him get through this."

"But we don't even know what to do," Jimmy protested. "That's why we came to you."

Roarke nodded. "I realize that, and I will do whatever I can to help you. But it may take a little time. First of all, if Craig isn't home by the time you have your evening meal, call here and let me know. I'll dispatch search parties and we'll track him down. I promise, one way or another, we'll get to the bottom of the conundrum."

§ § § -- May 23, 2006

Craig had come home without incident the previous Friday, an hour or so after fleeing the main house; but the problems at school had simply escalated, gradually but steadily. At this point Camille found herself as eager as the boys for school to end for the summer; she told Leslie and their other friends that she was getting sick of receiving daily phone calls from the school. "I can't believe they haven't expelled him by now!"

"Maybe they figure it's close to the end of the year, and what he's done so far isn't all that harmful, in the end," Leslie suggested a little uncertainly. "They just want to get him through what's left of school and see him go away for the summer, and hope that when the new school year starts in September, he'll be back to normal."

"He hasn't really hurt anyone, has he?" Lauren interjected, watching Kevin running around the Enstads' backyard with Tobias.

"Not really," Camille said, "but I'm sure that's gonna happen any day now. Look, it's not like I _want_ them to expel him. Even this late, it might hurt his chances for passing to fourth grade. But the way he's going, he's going to endanger his classmates…and then Jimmy and I'd get sued by some litigious parent. That's all we need."

"You said you talked to Mr. Roarke about this," Maureen put in. She had brought April, who was playing with Robin, Susanna and Karina. "What does he think?"

"He just said we'll get to the bottom of it," Camille said, shrugging.

"Well, Leslie?" Maureen pressed.

Leslie shook her head and explained, "He hasn't said anything about it since then. It didn't come up over the weekend; we had the fantasies, of course, and we don't let other things come into play unless they insinuate themselves into the business. But he looked pretty preoccupied after we saw the guests off this morning. If nothing's happened just yet, then don't worry about it too much."

Myeko fielded Camille's dark look and pointed out, "Whatever this 'voice' is that you said Craig insisted he keeps hearing…well, you never know, that 'voice' could be telling him to do something horrible right now, even as we're sitting here talking about it."

"That's what really scares me," Camille admitted, looking more vulnerable than any of her friends could ever recall seeing her. They fell silent for a minute or two, only half hearing the shouts of Kevin and Tobias in the backyard and the occasional protesting squeal from Robin, April, Susanna or Karina as the boys ran too close by them.

Overhead they heard footsteps, and several seconds later Christian descended the spiral staircase at a rapid clip, pausing a few steps into the room when he became aware of the silence. "Well, this is unusual," he teased them. "Several women in one room and none of them talking? It must be some sort of record."

That brought them to life, and they flapped hands at him or retorted good-naturedly, "Shut up." He laughed and came farther into the room, pausing behind Leslie's chair. "Why the quiet? Don't tell me you're still on the subject of Craig's problem."

"As a matter of fact, we were," Lauren said. "We just hit a snag in the topic."

"Ah, I see," said Christian. "Listen…my Rose, I'm afraid I have to make a trip in to my office. I don't expect to be gone more than perhaps an hour, but I'll have my mobile phone with me, so don't hesitate to call if anything happens. I'll let you know if I expect to be longer. That client I met with last week tells me he wants me to make a few changes in his site, so I thought it best to do it today while I'm not working on anything else."

"Okay," Leslie agreed. "I'm sure it'll be business as usual around here, but with little kids around, you never know."

"True," he said and grinned, leaning down long enough to kiss her. "All right then, happy chat. And listen…Camille, I know you and Jimmy are frightened for your son, but try to have some faith in Mr. Roarke. Even he takes time to figure out some things."

Camille managed a wan smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Christian." Christian tossed a wave at her, winked at Leslie, then stepped into his shoes in the entryway before departing.

When he was gone, Lauren flicked a glance at her cousin, then focused on Leslie and suggested, "Maybe you could call Mr. Roarke and see if he's come up with anything new since Friday."

Leslie stared at her in surprise. "Wow, you really are anxious, aren't you. Look, you guys, we can't sit around here pulling out our hair and wondering what Craig will wind up doing next. There's no way you can go into the school building and hover over him the whole day waiting to catch him in the act."

"What if it were your kid?" Camille demanded, turning on her. "Don't tell me if it was Tobias this was happening to, you wouldn't be chewing your fingernails and going out of your mind just like I am."

Leslie sighed. "I'm not trying to say I wouldn't. It's just that there's only so much we can do, and fretting over it won't make a solution present itself any sooner."

"It's a time-waster too," Maureen put in quietly. "You've got David and Robin to think about too." She raised her voice just enough to override Camille when the latter looked up and started to protest indignantly. "Come on, Camille, we all know you've put the problem in Mr. Roarke's hands. Now all you can do is leave it there and give him time to come up with some ideas. Something good has to happen soon. Try to be optimistic."

Camille looked wry. "You know I don't have much in the way of virtues. My patience is in short supply, and I'm not much good at rosy outlooks either. You're all just gonna have to try to put up with me till Mr. Roarke has some sort of breakthrough."

Just then the French doors at the back of the room opened and Robin came in, heading straight for Camille, a determined look on her face. Her deep-brown almond-shaped eyes were so narrow with annoyance that they were little more than matching lines under her forehead. "Mommy," she complained in outrage, "the boys are being _bad!"_

Leslie and Lauren traded glances and grins, while Camille, forced to divert her attention elsewhere, hoisted Robin into her lap. "What are they doing?"

"Being bad," Robin repeated incredulously, obviously unable to believe her mother hadn't heard her the first time. The five friends laughed, and all got up to investigate the problem; Leslie kept a surreptitious eye on Camille, relieved to be off the subject of Craig, even if it was just for a few moments.

Christian had been gone for a little more than an hour, and the women had moved out to the Enstad backyard for lemonade, fresh air and a closer eye on the children, when Leslie heard the phone ring inside and excused herself to go answer it. "Hello, my Rose," she heard her husband's voice. "I have a bit of a surprise for you."

The way he sounded, it wasn't a good one. Leslie frowned and glanced out to the backyard, wondering if she should close the open French door through which she had come. "Uh-oh. What's the matter?"

"I was on my way home via the Old Swamp Road when I caught someone hiking along it. His name happens to be Craig Omamara…and my watch says it's slightly past one-thirty. Am I wrong, or should he still be in school?"

Leslie shot a look at the kitchen clock and bit her lip. "No, you're not wrong, my love. So you're saying he just skipped out of school and took off on his own?"

"That's what it looks like," said Christian. "I think you'd better get Camille and ask her if she'd prefer I take him back to school, or bring him home."

"Okay," Leslie said and sighed to herself before going to the open door. "Camille…it's Christian." All her friends looked around, and she bit her lip. "Has to do with Craig."

"Why would Christian be calling about Craig?" Camille asked, slowly rising.

"Seems Craig skipped off the school grounds. Christian picked him up walking down the Old Swamp Road, on his way back here. He wants to know if you want him to take Craig back to school, or bring him on to your house."

Camille let her head fall forward with a not-very-muffled curse. "I should've known this was too good an interlude to last. Ask him if he'd mind taking Craig back to school, and if he'd call Jimmy and let him know what happened. I'm sure the school's gonna call too, but if he doesn't mind taking Craig back, have him tell the office to call Jimmy."

"Will do," Leslie said and relayed this to Christian.

"Well enough," Christian agreed. "I suppose this has to do with that little problem you and your friends and Mr. Roarke have been discussing for the past few days."

"Right in one," Leslie said through another sigh.

"All I can say is, I hope Mr. Roarke finds at least a possible solution soon, before this young man drives everyone on the island to drink." In the background Leslie heard a thud, then Christian's exclamation in _jordiska_, followed by his shout of, "Come back here!" He got back on the line. "He jumped out of the car and took off running. Do me a favor, my Rose, see if Maureen is willing to provide transportation for you and herself and Camille, and come up here as quickly as you safely can. Hurry, I've got to go after him."

"See you in a bit," Leslie said hurriedly and hung up, then explained to her friends what was happening. Camille cursed again, so loudly the others winced and the children looked at her in surprise.

"I'll help any way I can," said Maureen. "You don't mind if Lauren and Myeko stay here and watch the kids, do you? I don't think the little ones should be involved."

"Me either," Leslie agreed. "Okay, come on, Camille, let's go."

Maureen wasn't used to driving in an emergency, and when she pulled out of the private dirt lane on which the Hardings and the Enstads lived, the car fishtailed a little bit, sending up a fog of white dust. Maureen muttered a curse of her own and hit the gas enough to let her car coast rapidly down the hill of the Enclave's access road. "Maybe I should've let you drive, Leslie," she mumbled.

"I don't care who's driving," Camille barked. "I just need to make sure my son's all right before I punish him fifteen ways to next November. Leslie, for crying out loud, will you please call Mr. Roarke?"

"Okay, okay, calm down," Leslie said and pulled out her own cell phone from her purse; the phone had been a birthday gift from Christian a couple of weeks before. She called Roarke at the main house and explained what was happening, while Maureen pulled onto the Ring Road and floored the accelerator.

"I'll notify Jimmy," Roarke promised when he heard the story. "When you've returned Craig to school, have Maureen bring you and Camille here to the main house. I have an idea that may help us solve the mystery."

"We'll be there," said Leslie and cut the connection, then tried Christian again without results. She supposed he was still busy chasing Craig and sighed, stashing the phone back into her purse and leaning over the back of the front seat where Camille sat beside nervous driver Maureen. "Father says he has some idea about Craig's problem, so once we take Craig back to school, we three are supposed to go to the main house."

"About time," Camille grumbled, but her voice was too filled with worry to be really irritated. "If this turns out to be some stupid prank, I'm gonna kill that kid…"

About four miles up the Old Swamp Road, they saw the Enstads' car—a recently purchased, late-model hybrid station wagon—sitting on the shoulder. Maureen pulled over so that the Hardings' car faced it, and the three scrambled out, hesitating beside the car. Neither Craig nor Christian was in sight, and all they heard was the endless jumbled orchestra of birds and the breeze rustling through the treetops. "Where are they?" asked Camille, staring one way and then the other along the road.

Leslie went to the Enstads' car and opened the unlocked driver's-side door, only to see that the keys were still in the ignition and Christian's cell phone lay on the seat. "Good grief," she exclaimed softly. "No wonder I couldn't reach him. He left his phone here."

Maureen and Camille looked at each other. "What do we do now?" Maureen asked.

Leslie looked up and then down the empty road, scanned the jungle on either side, then sighed and shook her head. "Well, the keys are in our car, so I think what we'll have to do is split up. Maureen, you and Camille take your car and look for them the way we came. I'll take ours and go north from here, and if one of us picks them up, we call the other and meet back here. We'll go to the school from there."

"Got it," said Camille, and Maureen nodded. They climbed into their respective vehicles, both turned around in the street, and headed off to search. Leslie was somewhat uneasy, worried about Christian since he'd abandoned the car and his phone; that could only mean trouble. Craig, being much smaller, might well be able to give Christian the slip in some tiny, out-of-the-way place, especially if he'd led him through the woods, and Christian could be lost in there for days. She shook her head, wishing he'd at least taken his phone with him.

She had driven almost two miles when she thought she caught a flash of something in the trees and stopped the car abruptly, swiftly rolling down the window. "Christian!" she shouted. "Craig!"

It took some thirty seconds, but to her great relief Christian eventually emerged from the jungle, with a firm grip on Craig's arm. The prince focused on her in surprise. "What happened to Maureen and Camille?"

"We found the car with nobody in it, so we split up to look. I need to call and let them know I found you. Or you found us." She parked the car so that Christian could wrestle a recalcitrant Craig into the back seat, and called Camille's phone to let her know the outcome. She watched Christian firmly strap Craig into the back seat, threaten to tie him in if he didn't stay put, and hastily got into the front seat beside Leslie.

"Lock the doors," he said tersely. "He's liable to run again."

Leslie engaged the central safety lock on the door at her side and peered into the rearview mirror till she saw Maureen's car appear around a slight bend in the road. She pulled out then and led the way back to the school, where Camille took charge of her son and towed him all the way into the building. Maureen parked beside the Enstads' car and got out while Leslie rolled her window down. "You think Mr. Roarke still wants me there?"

"If you'd rather, you could go back and get the kids and take Lauren and Myeko with you to your place. The triplets should be fine at your house, they have April and Kevin to play with. We can take Camille to the main house."

"Okay. Tell Camille I said good luck," Maureen said and waved, heading back to her car. Leslie and Christian watched her depart the school grounds, then looked at each other.

"Did he just up and run off on you?" Leslie asked.

"As certain as fate, while I was winding up my conversation with you. He seemed docile at first, but all of a sudden his head came up so hard I thought I should have heard his neck snap with the effort, and he stared into space, then leaped out of the car and took off into the trees. I suppose that 'little voice' of his told him to do it."

"This is absolutely weird," she muttered, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "I wonder if Father's come up against anything like this before. I can't think of a single plausible explanation for it."

"Other than mental illness?" suggested Christian dryly, shifting in his seat and scooping up his cell phone, which he pushed into his pants pocket. "If that's the problem, there's not likely to be anything even Mr. Roarke can do about it."

Before she could formulate a rejoinder, Camille emerged from the school building and trudged in their direction, looking beaten. She climbed into the back of their car without bothering to ask Maureen's whereabouts. "I've had it," she mumbled, slumping listlessly in the seat. "I've just had it."

"What'd they say?" asked Leslie, backing the car out to head for the main house.

Camille half-shrugged. "They said if this keeps up, he either gets expelled, or has to repeat the third grade. Talk about bad choices."

"Perhaps Mr. Roarke will have something you can take hope from," Christian offered, though he sounded only modestly encouraging. "Maureen wished you luck, by the way, and perhaps this will be it."

At the main house, Roarke welcomed them in, took in Camille's drooping posture and requested, "Tell me what happened." Christian and Leslie took turns explaining their sides of the story, and Camille filled in the final part at the school. Roarke listened carefully, nodding faintly once in a while, but not speaking till they had all finished.

"Why don't we sit down," he said, and they settled around the tea table. Roarke positioned himself so that he was facing Camille, and said, "So far I've had very little to go on. I am convinced that Craig does in fact hear the voice he spoke to me of, but without having heard it myself, I can draw only one conclusion."

"You think he's going insane, don't you?" Camille asked dully.

To not only her surprise, but Christian's and Leslie's as well, Roarke said slowly, "No, I don't. But I don't know of any way to find out exactly what is bothering Craig without seeing him alone—just he and I, no one else."

Camille leaned forward in her seat, elbows resting on her knees. "I'll be more than glad to leave you in his custody, Mr. Roarke, however long you need him."

Roarke nodded. "In that case, why don't you and Jimmy bring him here on Friday afternoon. The week will be a busy one, and I'll have no free time before then, I'm sorry to say." He saw Camille's startled, protesting look. "I realize that provides opportunity for a great deal of trouble between now and then, so I have taken the liberty of preparing a formula for you to give Craig each day till then. If you'll excuse me one moment…" He arose and left the room.

"Formula," Camille repeated, staring after the departed Roarke. "Does he mean like a potion or something?"

"Probably," said Leslie. "Don't ask me what it's supposed to do. That's one area Father's never given me even the slightest instruction in."

Roarke returned after a moment and handed Camille a vial about six inches high, full of a clear pale-orange liquid. "It's best if you keep this in a safe place, where Craig cannot find it," he advised. "And if you can administer it to him without his knowledge, do so."

Camille slowly took the vial from him, peering absently at the contents, frowning slightly. After a moment, she looked up and said, "I think I can do that, Mr. Roarke. How much should I give him each time, and how often?"

"Once a day, and no more than a finger's width of the formula," Roarke said. "It's meant to filter out the voice he continues to hear, without affecting anything else. And I would appreciate your letting me know whether it works."

"We will," Camille promised, hope in her features for the first time. "Thanks, Mr. Roarke, you might've just saved our sanity."

"We'll take you back to pick up Robin," Leslie said.

"It's no bother?" Camille asked.

"None at all," Christian assured her. "I was actually on my way home when I first saw Craig, so there's no problem at all. My business is finished."

Leslie peered over her shoulder at Roarke as she, Christian and Camille filed out of the house, and his expression made her think, _Christian's business may be finished, but I think ours has just begun!_


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- May 23, 2006

_Don't eat your cereal this morning._ The voice was the first thing Craig heard upon waking up on Friday morning, a good half hour before his mother usually came in to roust him and David out of bed for school. He squinted in the pale pre-dawn light and made a face; of course he was going to eat his cereal. He was always hungry in the mornings, and he'd long had the habit of eating a big bowl of cold cereal, drowning in milk, before going to school. He fell back asleep without acknowledging the irritant in his ear.

Almost immediately he started to dream. It was a strangely lifelike dream, in which he saw himself padding along the hallway of the Omamaras' ranch-style house toward the kitchen. He himself was floating overhead, taking little interest in his surroundings or even what his body below him was doing. He drifted lazily along while his body went to the kitchen, dragged a chair away from the table and positioned it at the counter beside the sink; then his body climbed onto the chair, opened a high overhead cabinet and extracted a small glass jar with a little bit of orange liquid in the bottom. Craig watched in mild surprise as his body moved of its own accord, upending the little jar over the sink and watching its contents vanish down the drain. Then his body replaced the liquid with a bit of water, added a drop each of red and yellow food coloring, recapped the jar, put it back and replaced the chair. He floated along, pondering these actions, while his body returned to bed. The dream ended there, and Craig knew no more till his mother's voice echoed in the room he and his brother shared. "Up and at 'em, guys."

"Aw, man," groaned David sleepily, as he did every school morning. Craig thought his older brother sounded more tired than usual, and a moment later, after a huge yawn, David grumbled, "One more lousy week till summer. I'm so frickin' tired, you can't imagine."

"I am too," Craig muttered. "I hate school."

"Trust me, little bro, you're gonna hate it a lot more before you get done," David assured him with a nod and a wry smile. "Might as well get it over with."

Craig watched David leave the room, then slipped reluctantly out of bed and got dressed. And that was when he heard the voice in his head; this time it completely filled his brain, shutting out everything else. After the respite he'd had from it all week, it was an unwelcome surprise to have it back; but he had no control, either over what he heard in his head, or what his body did in response.

None of the Omamaras had slept very well the night before; only Robin was allowed to catch up, which made her parents and David rather cranky as a result. Craig seemed oddly quiet and detached this morning, Camille thought, monitoring him out of the corner of her eye as she had been doing every morning that week since Roarke had given her the potion. She had dumped the last of it into Craig's cereal bowl just before her sons had come in for breakfast, and was worried about its effects lasting long enough for her to get him over to the main house after school that day.

Craig ate as voraciously as he ever had, but for some reason he looked strange to Camille this morning. He said nothing to anyone, simply shoveled in his food till he was done, then drank the milk right out of the bowl, as he had done ever since he was a toddler. He seemed well-behaved enough, anyway, and she was relieved at that, glad of the quiet this week. She relaxed, urging the boys to get their backpacks, handing them money for that day's school lunch and sending them on their way to meet the island shuttle bus.

‡ ‡ ‡

The first sign that something had gone wrong occurred when four o'clock came and went with no sign of Camille and Craig. Roarke checked both his gold watch and the grandfather clock near the foyer steps, just to be certain he had the time right; but it was only an affectation, for he knew both timepieces were correct. He picked up the phone and called the Omamara house.

"Mr. Roarke, Craig hasn't come home from school," Camille said frantically, making him sit up with alarm. "He and David always take the shuttle bus home, and David came back as usual, but Craig wasn't with him. And David hasn't seen him since he got off the bus at the high school this morning."

"Did Craig seem all right to you before he left?" Roarke asked.

"He was fine, as far as I could tell. Ate like a horse, as usual…but he was a little bit robotic. I thought that was because of the stuff you gave me for him. I put it in his cereal just the way I've been doing every morning. You don't think it was that, do you?"

"No, it wouldn't be the potion," Roarke said slowly, frowning. "At the moment, my suggestion is that you and David start searching for Craig. Don't raise a great alarm, but do use whatever means are at your disposal; and if and when you find him, bring him directly here. I suspect it's urgent."

"We will, Mr. Roarke," Camille promised, and he hung up with a quiet sigh and a slow headshake.

Leslie came in then, looking just a little hurried. "I think we're finally ready to go," she said, without noticing his demeanor at first. "One more errand and we'll be ready for tomorrow…" She looked up and squinted a little at him. "What's wrong? Wait a minute…I thought Camille and Craig were supposed to be here."

"They were," Roarke said and explained what had happened. "Never mind the last errand, child. Take a car and give Camille whatever assistance you can. I'll notify Jimmy so that he can begin a search as well."

Before he could pick up the phone, though, Leslie's cell went off, and she groaned and dug it out of her purse. "I need a better place to put this. Hello?" She listened for a moment, then gasped out loud. "Are you sure?" Roarke watched her sharply while her face grew more and more alarmed. "When did you last see him? No, speak slowly. Calm down." She listened for a long moment, her other hand drifting up to wrap itself around the hand holding the phone to her ear, her eyes wide and frightened. But her voice was commendably steady when she spoke again. "Okay, okay. Stay there and don't leave the house. You didn't see anyone come in…" She paused, as if interrupted, then closed her eyes and pulled in a long breath through her nose, attempting to retain her calm. "How does your head feel?" She nodded, then released the inhalation, much more shakily now. "Thank you for letting me know. I'll tell Christian and my father. Just stay right where you are." She closed the phone and stared at Roarke almost pleadingly. "That was Ingrid. Tobias is missing."

Roarke stood up abruptly. "Did she say how it happened?"

"She told me she was sorting laundry in the living room while the triplets were upstairs having their afternoon nap. She says something hit her hard on the head and she blacked out, and when she woke up the French door in our living room was open. She could hear the kids crying upstairs and went up to check on them, and that's when she saw that Tobias was gone. The girls were fine, just crying. Her head has a lump but she's okay."

Roarke nodded. "All right, then, as long as the others are fine, we can concentrate on finding Craig and now Tobias. In light of the events that have taken place all week, and now Craig's absence when he should have been here…"

"You think Craig took Tobias?" Leslie asked, astounded. "But how? He's only a nine-year-old boy!"

"Craig Omamara is under the influence of something utterly alien to him," Roarke said slowly, his gaze fading from focus. "Unless we can find him and bring both him and Tobias to safety, we may not discover what it is before it's too late. You'd better call Christian and let him know. He'll want to join the search."

Christian showed up at the main house in record time after hearing Leslie's news, and had a barely coiled tension about him, as though ready to spring forth and annihilate whatever was harming his son. "What's being done?" he demanded.

The royal in him had come out again, and Roarke allowed this under the circumstances. "So far Camille and David are looking for Craig," he said. "I didn't want a great hue and cry to be raised, but I've called the police department so that we can put more manpower into the search."

Christian frowned. "I'm not sure that'll be good enough. I'm going to call in some of our friends. Leslie, why don't you get in touch with Katsumi and Tabitha. I'll call Grady and Nick, and I'll pull most of my employees out of the office as well. Anton and Taro can handle whatever traffic comes through. Jonathan and Julianne know this island, and Beth and Darius should be able to assist as well." Without waiting for either his wife or Roarke to respond, he snapped open his cell and began making calls. Leslie smiled a little, oddly relieved at his take-charge attitude, and put through a call to Katsumi.

Within fifteen minutes a large search party had spread out all over the eastern end of the island, hunting for two boys. Christian and Leslie stayed together at his insistence; he knew she was still more familiar with the island than he was, and preferred to follow her lead. Most of the searchers were armed with cell phones; those who weren't teamed up with someone who had one. Roarke had stayed behind at the main house, in case the boys happened to appear there; he was also able to receive progress reports from all search parties there. The whole thing was well organized.

Deep in the jungle, they ran into Darius Langford, Christian's receptionist, who had joined up with Beth and Julianne, as only Julianne had a cell phone. "Seen anything?" asked Christian instantly.

"Not a sign," Darius said, dragging his forearm across his forehead. "Isn't it gonna get dark in about an hour or so?"

Leslie checked her watch. "Yeah," she confirmed tensely.

"What have you heard?" Christian addressed Julianne.

"Not much, Boss Prince," she said apologetically. "I keep trying to raise Jonathan to see if he's found anything, but his line's always busy. He's probably trying to keep Ingrid from going nuts over at your house."

"That would figure," muttered Christian. "Well, all right. Keep shouting both boys' names. Even if Craig doesn't respond, Tobias should." Beth, Darius and Julianne nodded, and the two parties went their separate ways once more.

"If Jonathan's on the phone with Ingrid all the time, he won't be much good to us," Leslie commented through a sigh.

"I suppose it's only natural," Christian admitted and even cracked a momentary half-smile. "After all, Tobias disappeared under her watch, and I suspect she's certain we're going to fire her whenever we finally find him."

"Oh, it wasn't her fault," Leslie snorted, rolling her eyes.

"I know that, my Rose," he assured her, dropping a hand on her shoulder for a second or two. "She's the one who doesn't, I expect. How far do you think we should keep going? I have a sneaking suspicion that Craig—or whatever Mr. Roarke seems to think is controlling him—wouldn't stay very close to populated areas."

"But why would he take Tobias?" Leslie asked helplessly.

Christian pulled her to a halt in the path and hugged her hard. "I don't know. I wish I had an answer for that. Maybe we'll find out after we find him and Craig. Do you think we'd better get back to the main house and take the car?"

His suggestion reminded Leslie of the merry chase Craig had led Christian on earlier that week, and she nodded. "Come to think of it, we might not even be looking in the right place. Let's go back and take a look along the Old Swamp Road, and we can start at the southern end since that's closer to the Enclave."

Christian understood her thinking immediately. "I see what you're saying. All right, then, let's hurry."

At the main house they met up with Camille, who by now was nearly hysterical with combined fear and guilt, and David, who merely looked annoyed. David spoke first. "This is getting way out of hand," he complained. "Mom's flipping out, and we don't even know what's wrong with my dumb brother anyway."

Roarke smiled faintly and said, "Perhaps you should return home, and Camille can join Christian and Leslie. If they find anything, they can call your father and let him know."

David looked pathetically relieved, so much so that Christian and Leslie were hard-pressed not to grin. "Wow, Mr. Roarke, you read my mind. I'm starving anyway. Okay, thanks." He ran out of the house, as if afraid Camille would override Roarke's instructions, and Leslie put a hand on Camille's shoulder.

"Hey, come on, Christian and I are headed down toward our neighborhood." She included Roarke in her explanation. "I figured, since Tobias was taken from home, they might still be somewhere in that area. I know they've had a lot of time to range way afield, but it just makes sense to start there and expand from that point."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," said Camille shakily, biting her lip. "In a way I almost wish it were Robin who was lost. Harriet wouldn't have let anyone drag her off, at least not without following along. She's not much of a watchdog otherwise, but…"

Christian broke in, "Harriet? Your dog? Do you think she might be able to follow Craig's scent? Surely she knows that."

Astonished, Camille blinked at him through tear-washed eyes. "I never thought of that." She snapped straight up and gasped. "David." Instantly she ducked out the door, and a few seconds later they heard her screaming her son's name from the front veranda.

Leslie had to laugh. "She's probably kicking herself for not thinking of it before."

"I'm sure she is," chuckled Roarke. "That was an excellent idea, Christian."

"What kind of dog is Harriet, anyway?" Christian asked.

"A black Lab," Leslie said. "She's about eight or nine years old, I guess. I think they got her when Craig was a baby, after their first dog died. I'm pretty sure Camille used to remark about how Harriet was protective of Craig when he was little, the same way she watches out for Robin now."

"That could work in our favor, then," said Christian. "If we can get Harriet to pick up Craig's scent, she might lead us right to him."

Within ten minutes David had come back with the Omamaras' dog; and with Harriet in the back of the Enstads' car, Camille in the middle seat and Christian and Leslie up front, they headed for the Enclave while Roarke called the search parties to let them know the latest developments. Harriet stuck her head out the car window and let the breeze blow her ears back all the way down the Ring Road, tail whipping ecstatically back and forth all the while. Camille shook out the T-shirt Craig had worn the day before and tried repeatedly to coax Harriet to sniff it, but the dog was so happy at having a rare car ride that she paid no attention at all. Christian, laughing, finally suggested she let it go till they'd reached the Old Swamp Road entrance.

"Darn useless hound," Camille muttered, more or less good-naturedly, folding the shirt with shaky hands. "What is it with dogs anyway? They hate it when you blow in their faces, but get 'em in a car and they'd stick their heads out the window if a tornado was blowing them away. I never did get that."

"Someday someone may find the answer to that," Christian remarked, grinning. "Let Harriet have her fun while she can. She has a job to do."

A few minutes later Christian parked the car just off the Ring Road, near the corner of the Old Swamp Road, and he, Leslie, Camille and Harriet got out. This time Harriet eagerly sniffed Craig's shirt, even licked it once before Camille pulled it away and ordered her to track down Craig. Harriet looked around for a few seconds; Camille knelt, put the shirt on the ground and urged her to sniff it again. "Good dog. Now find Craig," she said once more.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- May 27, 2006

This time Harriet seemed to get the message and put her nose to the ground, sniffing energetically. As it turned out, she found several dozen other equally interesting scents to explore, and all three of them had to keep coaxing her back onto the trail again. Finally, just off the shoulder of the road, Harriet barked a couple of times, lowered her nose again and started off into the trees, evidently intent on something. Leslie, Christian and Camille trailed closely behind, each wielding a flashlight to use against the dark that would soon be falling. At one point Christian's cell rang and he answered it, filling Nick in on what they were doing at the moment.

By the time it did get dark and they had the flashlights on, they were so deep into the jungle that even Leslie wasn't sure they'd get out again. "This is getting scary," she mumbled uneasily, playing the beam of her light ahead of the dog in an attempt to see if anything other than thick vegetation lay in their path. "I mean…this isn't exactly the tamer part of the woods, after all."

Christian gave her a sharp look that was lost in the darkness. "You're speaking of such things as large wild cats, perhaps?"

"Among other things," Leslie said.

"Maybe the lights will scare them off," Camille offered hopefully. Christian only grunted, and the conversation fell by the wayside after that. From time to time they would shout out either Craig's or Tobias' names, but there was never any reply. Harriet continued to lead them along, pausing now and then to search for the scent, but always picking it up again. Her three human companions were silent with worry and some fear.

Christian had just shone his flashlight onto his Rolex and ascertained that the time was approaching seven when Harriet stopped, lifted her head, then began barking. Leslie, who had been talking to Tabitha on her cell, interrupted the conversation with a quick word and shouted, "Tobias! Son, it's Mommy and Daddy! Tobias?"

"Back away," a voice moaned threateningly at them from somewhere ahead, beyond the scope of their flashlight beams.

Camille reacted instantly. "Craig Randall Omamara!" she shouted in a rage. "Get out here right now, young man, you're really in deep trouble now!"

"Back away now," Craig's voice moaned again. Christian and Leslie looked at each other; they recognized the voice, but it sounded distorted somehow.

"Tobias!" Christian called out.

"Daddy!" cried his son's voice, and there was what sounded like a scuffle, punctuated by protesting shrieks from Tobias. Leslie got hastily back onto her phone and begged Tabitha to call Roarke and tell him they had found the boys and needed his help immediately, before closing her phone and shoving it into her pocket for safety.

"Craig, dammit, what are you doing?" Camille roared.

"Mommy," screamed Tobias, and Leslie wildly played her flashlight beam all through the trees, with Christian following suit, to no avail.

"Tobias, sweetie, Mommy's over here," Leslie cried. "Come over here."

"Get away or the boy will die," Craig's voice moaned again, in that weird distorted way that unnerved Leslie.

Camille didn't seem to notice. "Craig, I mean it, if I count to five and you haven't come out of there—"

"One moment," said a new voice from behind them, and all three whipped around to see Roarke standing there. Leslie and Christian sagged with immense relief; Camille gaped at him. "I suspect Craig is not himself at the moment."

"What in heck do you mean? Where'd you come from?" Camille babbled.

Leslie, who knew full well where Roarke had come from, broke in with, "He has Tobias with him. We heard him screaming for me and Christian. He sounds fine, just really scared. I'm so glad you could find us—I don't even know where we are."

"I suppose we're lucky we haven't met anything with a taste for steak tartare a la _Homo sapiens,"_ Christian noted, shooting a nervous glance into the trees.

"Don't worry about that, Christian," Roarke advised, edging forward between him and Leslie to stand just in front of them. Harriet brushed past him and sat down next to Camille, as if she sensed Roarke was taking over. "I must ask for your silence.

"Craig!" he called into the trees. "Come out immediately. It's urgent."

"Aha, Roarke, so you're here," taunted Craig's strangely distorted voice. "I've been waiting for you. Now it's time to deal."

Roarke frowned; Camille, Christian and Leslie exchanged puzzled looks. "I'll make no deals unless I know with whom I am speaking," Roarke said firmly.

"Oh, very well…I'm Pathemonas." The emphasis in the word was on the second syllable. Roarke looked quite surprised for a moment, then settled his stance, a wry expression on his face. "Might as well get down to business, Roarke. To put it simply…I'm taking the souls of this boy and your grandson."

"And exactly why would you do such a thing?" Roarke inquired patiently.

"I have my reasons," Pathemonas retorted.

Roarke actually chuckled to himself, making Camille lean over and peer at him as if for some sign that he was going mad. "Come now, Pathemonas, suppose you step out into the open to do your, uh, business. It's difficult to negotiate with someone I cannot see."

After a few seconds, a strange-looking young boy emerged from the trees, oddly shadowed by the flashlight beams; he had Craig by one arm and a terrified, crying Tobias in the other hand. Craig's face was eerily blank. The boys' captor looked to be no more than around twelve years old; but then Leslie's flashlight beam happened to catch him in its full sweep, and they all saw small horns poking out of his temples. Camille gasped.

"All right, here I am," the boy said. "I'm Pathemonas. Like I said, I get these two souls, and you better not bother trying to stop me."

"You have no grounds to take either of these children," Roarke informed him, almost avuncularly. "They have done nothing to warrant such a fate. Let them go."

Pathemonas rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that. Well, okay…I'll do it, but on one condition. You have to come back to hell with me."

"What in the name of my domain goes on here?" demanded an entirely different—but familiar, at least to Leslie and Roarke—voice. A red glow came to life in the nearby trees, and sure enough, within seconds, out stepped Mephistopheles. He took in the scene and sighed heavily. "Pathemonas, are you up to your crass little tricks again?"

Pathemonas protested, "I'm doing it for you, Mephistopheles! That's why I was doing all this! I know you want Roarke's soul more than anything else, and I was trying to help you get it!"

"You, my boy, have a great deal to learn, don't you?" Mephistopheles observed in a weary tone. "Let those children go."

"But—" Pathemonas began.

"_Do it," _growled the devil, and Pathemonas sighed loudly and reluctantly released the boys. Tobias ran for Leslie, who scooped him up and cuddled him, smoothing his hair while Christian leaned over and kissed his son atop the head. Craig swayed in place for a second or two, then blinked, jerked erect and looked around.

"Mom!" he yelled and barreled right into Camille, who abruptly burst into tears and hugged him hard. Harriet, tail whacking a large flat leaf at six beats a second, whined eagerly, sniffing and pawing at Craig.

"How come you always have to spoil my fun?" Pathemonas whined. "It's not fair, and when I was just trying to help you too!"

"Silence, you little fool," Mephistopheles warned. "You clearly forgot the first rule of soul-collecting—_wait till the owner of the soul wants to sell it!_ Neither of those children did any such thing, now did they? You know damn well they didn't!" He looked up at Roarke with an uncharacteristically repentant expression. "My apologies, Roarke. This wasn't meant to happen. _Get back here."_ His arm shot out and seized Pathemonas around the biceps, making the latter gasp; Mephistopheles had never taken his gaze from Roarke's.

"It seems you have a young troublemaker in your midst," Roarke remarked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Mephistopheles agreed, casting Pathemonas a look that clearly promised repercussions. "Explain yourself."

Pathemonas seemed to give up, and sagged a little in Mephistopheles' grip. "I've been trying for ages to come up with some way to help you get Roarke's soul—I mean, you're always talking about it, after all. So I thought I'd go through someone close to him. Problem is, I couldn't fit into Tobias Enstad's little bitty body there, so I had to hunt up somebody a little closer to my size. That kid was the first one I found." He pointed at Craig. "I started out by standing on his shoulder, making suggestions in his ear. Nobody could see me, and he was the only one who could hear me. I just kept it up for a while till I figured he trusted me, and then I started making plans to get to Roarke through him. But then his mother went to Roarke and got a potion that I couldn't get around, and it made me so mad that I made him get up early this morning and pour the last of it down the drain, and replace it with colored water so that nobody would notice it was gone." Camille glared at Pathemonas, who didn't notice. "I spent his whole day in school telling him what we were gonna do, and when he got out for the day, I took over his entire mind and body, and we went over to the Enstad place, knocked out the nanny and kidnapped the little kid. I knew once they found out he was gone, Roarke'd come after him, and I could use the kid as a bargaining chip—I'd let him go if Roarke'd give me his soul to turn over to you."

"Commendably clever," Mephistopheles said, shaking his head. "Or it would have been, had you remembered that critical rule. And by the way, another critical rule of mine is, never use children to get to adults! Really, boy, even the devil has to have some standards!"

"I don't see what for," complained Pathemonas.

"You don't need to see what for," Mephistopheles retorted, mimicking Pathemonas' voice for the last three words. "You merely need to remember that I am in charge, I make the rules, and I enforce said rules. At the rate you absorb instructions, people will be flocking to beaches on Svalbard before I allow you out to search for souls. Now get back where you belong and consider my words." He released Pathemonas, pointed a finger at him and scowled; a bright yellow flame erupted from the ground and swallowed him, and Mephistopheles dusted off his hands, turning to Roarke with a satisfied look. "It's so hard to train apprentices these days, Roarke…I'm sure you understand. No hard feelings?"

Roarke looked highly amused. "None at all, Mephistopheles, none at all."

"Good." Mephistopheles turned to leave, then caught himself and peered over his shoulder with a deceptively lighthearted look and even a small grin. "Of course, Roarke, this doesn't mean our eternal war has ended. We'll do battle again another day—without the help of my overeager assistant."

"Indeed," said Roarke. "Until then." Mephistopheles nodded, then walked away and disappeared quietly into the jungle, the red glow fading to black and leaving the four adults and two children in the shadows created by the flashlight beams.

"Who knew the devil had trainees," Leslie said finally.

"The devil? Are you serious?" demanded Camille.

"We've met before," Roarke understated with a broad smile. "But you need not fear him any longer, Camille."

"Though if I were you, I wouldn't make any offhanded remarks about selling my soul," Christian put in with a wink.

"I'll keep that in mind," Camille said a little dubiously. "What was that little kid's name again? Pathemonas?"

"Yes," Roarke said. "A telescoping of _paethi_ and _thaemonas_, the Greek words for 'child' and 'demon'." He smiled. "I expect none of you will have to worry about him again. I think it's time we all got home. Both Craig and Tobias will need some time to regain their equilibrium." He gently rubbed Tobias' cheek with the back of one finger, then gestured back the way they had come.


End file.
